


Transcendent

by SupernaturalMystery306



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Drug Use, Alastair Is B. A. D., Alternate Universe - High School, Balthazar And Meg Are Cousins And Castiel's Besties, Baseball Player Dean, Because Catcher-Pitcher Puns, Because You C. A. N. N. O. T. Like To The Police, But In Reality He Just Doesn't Know How Express His Love For Dean, Castiel Novak Is Bi, Dean Thinks Cas Is Homophobic, Dean Winchester Is Gay, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, How Do I Tag, I Think These Are Enough Tags To Freak You All Out, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Karolina's Playlist Challenge, M/M, Oops Hehe, Punk-Wild-Party-Thrower-Castiel, That's it, They're good people, Underage Drug Use, Yeah that's it, Zachariah Is Rude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 16:15:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9332978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupernaturalMystery306/pseuds/SupernaturalMystery306
Summary: If there was one person Dean hated in the whole world, it had to be Castiel Novak. All of a sudden, they had to pretend to be boyfriends.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [purgatoan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purgatoan/gifts).



> This fic was written for the Karolina's 1k followers celebration playlist challenge, or something, I can never remember the exact name. The song I got was To The Hills by Laurel. The story doesn't focus much on the song, but undertones are definitely there. :D
> 
> Thank you so much, Loveitsallineed, for hosting this lovely challenge which seriously challenged me for ages before [Pimmy](http://ao3.org/uses/pimento) swooped in to save my ass. :D :P Which is not your fault lmao. It's all my fault for being confused and uninspired. XD  
> Thank you Pimmy for proofing (any mistakes that remain are mine), and thank you to many other people for existing.
> 
>  **Warning:** Dean gets drugged. Nothing bad happens but I am stating this here in advance so that you do not walk into something unsuspectingly.
> 
> So I have nothing else to say in the notes so let's get on with the fic but I'd like to mention that it's been a year since I officially joined this fandom and I love you all for sticking with me. Thank you. ♥♥

Dean slammed the locker door shut as people walked on around him. The evening’s party was the major part of everyone’s conversation, and he sneered distastefully as he recalled whose house it was being held at.

Castiel fucking Novak.  Also known as: the one person how was able to get on Dean’s nerves, and make him look and feel as small as a squished bug under someone’s boots.

How a near-drop-out-stoner managed to make the football captain feel that way was beyond everyone’s understanding, but that was to be expected, since the same people thought Castiel was awesome and were ready to flock to his house for a party that no doubt involved weed and all sorts of illegal shit.

Not that Dean condemned the illegal shit, but yes, he definitely didn’t condone interactions with Castiel Novak.

That boy was poison, and Dean had no intention of associating with him.

\--

As expected, the next day, most people turned up in various states of disaster. Some looked mildly tired, some at the verge of dropping dead, and some just didn’t look up from the ground in order for Dean to gauge their state.

There was a dull chatter the entire day, and Dean did his best to ignore it all. he wasn’t going to listen to any of the bullshit that came out of Casitel’s Novak’s worshippers’ mouths

_“...fucked Meg and Balthazar together, I heard.”_

_“How fucking slutty can he get, OMG?”_

_“What I want to know is why they went along with it. I mean, I’d be disgusted if someone asked my brother and I for a threesome. Imagine your cousin in the same room, having sex with the person who’s fucking you!”_

_“Eeeew Marie, shut your mouth!”_

Well, that caught his attention. Meg and Balthazar Masters, two people as infamous as Castiel—mostly for the same reasons—were as hated as the third was admired, but they were all friends with each other. And funnily enough, Dean’s hatred for Novak didn’t extend to the Masters.

Meg and Castiel fucking was a well known piece of information, but Castiel and _Balthazar?_

There was surely some mistake, because one of the top reasons for Dean’s hatred for the punk was his homophobia.

Castiel couldn’t be fucking bisexual and getting hot and heavy with a boy, that just wasn’t possible. Because all the comments he had ever made about Dean’s appearance—calling him a pretty boy with blowjob lips and fuck me eyes—and the utterly fucked up things he’d said about him and Aaron— _I bet you like to get on your knees while he chokes you—_ really didn’t sound like someone who’d be open to guys with guys.

Then, how?

Dean snorted when he got an answer all of a sudden, in the form of Novak himself appearing in the doorway of the classroom.

He looked absolutely _wrecked_. Eyes red, skin pale with dark bags under said eyes, collarbones littered with bruises peeking out from an atrociously v-necked shirt—

Goodness, he was putting all the letters in MESS, and instead of his usual detestation, all Dean felt was _pity_ for the other boy.

How could a person who looked like a hot eighties star most of the time look like this reject of a person who couldn’t even hold himself up without the assistance of the door jamb?

Dean cursed himself as he caught himself pitying Novak, and he turned away. The girls from before had quietened, obviously courageous enough to talk about him behind his back, but not when he had appeared.

Castiel saw him, his eyes widened, and for the first time ever, he didn’t make any snide remarks, but instead walked into the room and flopped down on a seat, not even caring to make conversation with his cronies.

Dean’s brow furrowed, but he turned his eyes away from the scene, and focused on drafting a plan for their next game.

\--

It was a few days later, and they’d successfully won the game, and the whole school was celebrating, talking loudly and congratulating all the players, who were glowing from the attention.

Dean slipped away to the locker room, intending to change before everyone got there. He had to pick Sam up from his study not-date with Jess, and he didn’t want to be hogged by people looking for the team captain.

He opened the door, and stumbled back at the sight. Meg Masters was leaning against a locker door, with a cigarette in her hand, grinning at him. He heard a chuckle, and opening the door wider, found Balthazar reclining against the locker, next to his cousin. The older boy gave him a shark-like grin.

“Heya, Winchester!” they both said in unison, and tittered a bit.

Dean made a non-committal sound at the back of his throat. He didn’t hate those two like he hated Castiel—though the Masters weren’t exactly his favourite people—but he’d rather not talk to them, especially when he was in a hurry. “What do you want, now?”

Meg tilted her head, and Dean shook his own as he was reminded of _someone_ with that gesture. “Why do you think we want something? Although, you’re right, pretty boy, we do need something from you.”

One of his eyebrows went up as Balthazar got up, and Dean moved inside the room and shut the door behind him. No sense letting snoopers get gossip.

On second thought, he should have left the door open, because Balthazar was coming closer to him, and he had nowhere to escape.

“Aw, Deano, don’t run! I’m not gonna do anything to ya. Well, nothing you wouldn’t like.” the blond winked, and Dean’s lip curled with disgust.

“If you’d hurry up,” Meg finally said, yawning, “angels would weep.”

Balthazar snorted, and spoke, “So, there’s a party this Friday, isn’t there? To celebrate the victory you just earned out there?”

Dean nodded briskly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the clock striking eight, and he winced as he thought of Sammy waiting. He could also hear his team mates’ sounds as they came closer, and he internally groaned.

“Well, me and my friends aren’t invited, as you might know.” Balthazar continued, and Dean thanked all the gods for that. As if he’d want Castiel to come to any celebrations.

“Here’s the thing: we want invites.”

Dean blinked as he found Meg suddenly in his face, and he felt the door hitting his back as he backed up into it. The girl was smirking, teeth visible, and she clearly found his surprise amusing. Whatever, he huffed.

It’s not like he cared. Most people who attended those parties were strangers, and Dean never bothered to talk to them anyway, so he didn’t particularly mind if Meg and Balthazar wanted to come.

He just... didn’t want to be doing anything that made it look like he liked those people. He hesitated, and Balthazar smirked, “Aren’t you getting late to pick your brother up?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed, and he huffed. Digging out a few invites from the locker they were keeping all invites in (believe it or not, not all highschool students were unorganised and annoying), he threw them in their direction, and walked out.

He only belatedly realised that he’d forgotten to change out of his kit but he didn’t have time to dwell on that. He was already getting late and Sammy couldn’t wait.

\--

The party had been in full swing for almost two hours. Everyone was milling around, dancing and talking and screaming, half of them painfully drunk and the other half painfully sober, and they were all closing in on him like _walls_ , and he didn’t feel too good, and—

“Dean?” Someone said, holding his arm, and he internally groaned as he came face to face with Lisa. Thankfully, Benny, a teammate, was right behind her, and he distracted her by saying something, following which she giggled and flounced off.

“You okay, man?” Benny asked, and Dean nodded. He was fine. Just a little overwhelmed. But that was no reason to freak out.

The other boy’s eyebrows went up, and he shook his head, “Come out with me.” Dean nodded, a bit lost, and followed.

Outside, the chilly air whipped past them, ruffling their hair slightly. Some people were lying out here, talking or making out or—uh, hopefully what Dean was seeing was not a _handjob_. It was quiet, the night sky clear, worlds away from the atmosphere inside, and Dean breathed out a sigh of relief as the fresh air entered his lungs. The air inside had been stuffy, mixing with sweat and alcohol, and the memory of it made him nauseous now.

Benny regarded him carefully, before speaking, “You’re not fine. I can’t put my finger on it but something’s been off all night. The question is: what?”

Dean laughed nervously. Surely his intolerance to this environment wasn’t that obvious. Benny probably guessed it because he’d seen Dean on the field—he _was_ closer to Dean than most people, anyway. He had to look welcoming, happy that people were here, he couldn’t afford to go around like a zombie alerting everyone to his mood.

“You need a drink, mate.” His friend finally declared, and Dean nodded noncommittally. He allowed himself to be dragged back inside, and barely stifled a groan, his head swimming as the bass from the music reached overpowering limits.

Viktor’s parents sure were lenient if they let him throw parties like this. John would wring his neck if he tried something similar.

Benny called someone over, and asked for a drink. Dean tried to refuse, but the voice in his head—the one telling him that alcohol would help conceal his nerves—won over, and he had soon downed three glasses of the stuff.

Benny, satisfied that the captain was doing okay, patted him on the back with a request to call if he needed him, and walked off.

Dean leaned against the wall. The alcohol really _had_ made him feel better. He felt a bit light, but it was way better than his previous feeling of being dragged down into the ground. He almost felt like he was flying, and hey, as long as he didn’t have to fly inside a metal contraption, he was all good.

He felt a bit hot, though. He loosely held the glass in his hand, the outside of it cold and condensed with—yeah, that was most definitely the drink’s condensation, right? Then why did it feel as if it was more on Dean’s hand and less on the glass? Damnit, he was feeling cold now.

Someone held a hand up to his forehead, and for whatever reason—some weird, twisted, unthinkable reason—he turned into it, dragging his face against the hand happily. Its temperature contrasted with Dean’s, and it felt like _heaven_.

“Winchester, lovely to have this reaction but I’m afraid you’re a little too inebriated, and I like my boys willing, consenting, and sober. I think you’re a hundred percent, none of those.”

He looked up, sad to let go of the beautiful hand, and his eyes met Novak’s. What was Novak doing here? Wasn’t he not invited? Did he come here with someone? Why was he standing in front of him? Why was his hand so good? Why was he not saying anything rude to Dean yet? Why did he say Dean was whatever he said Dean was?

It was all so confusing.

Novak sighed, and then said, “Come on.” When he enveloped his hand around Dean’s, the green eyed boy thought he could cry from happiness. He was burning up yet freezing, and Castiel’s hand felt so wonderfully solid and _human_ that he felt like he could hold onto it forever. The other boy huffed as he slowed down, and dragged them down the hall to stop at the end of it.

A door greeted them, and Dean watched as Castiel inserted a key into... the thing in which keys generally went into. The lock turned, and the door was opened.

It was a bedroom, by the looks of it. A king sized bed lay in the centre of the room, with a few blankets and pillows dumped haphazardly onto it. Castiel walked over to it, and sat down. Patting the place next to him, he beckoned to Dean.

The green eyed boy came closer to him, taking unsteady steps. His hands were shaking by now, and he was sweating buckets. Castiel’s brow furrowed as he surveyed him, before he gasped.

“Dean?”

The boy in question smiled back at him dopily, and once he finally reached Castiel, he flopped down on his stomach, too tired and uncoordinated to sit up.

A hand landed on his lower back, and he arched into it, trying to get away at the same time.

God, everything was so _h o t and c o l d_.

The hand lowered him back on the bed, and something was draped across him. Dean drifted off.

\--

Dean awoke to a lot of shouting. His eyes fluttered open, and then squeezed shut at the insane amount of light around him. He turned to his side, and all noise ceased.

He sat up, head swimming, and looked at the occupants of the unknown room.

 _Oh fuck_ , he thought. An unimpressed police officer stared back at him.

There were about six of those, excluding the lady staring at him, and Castiel, and Viktor—all looking at him with varying expressions.

“You have to believe me!” Castiel finally exclaimed, “I have _no clue_ how they got there, and I did _not_ do anything to him!”

 “Do you honestly want us to believe that, son?” one of the older policemen said. He didn’t look _unkind_ , but he didn’t look the friendliest either. “You were the only one around him for almost five hours, you had your jacket draped over the boy and were also half-clothed. You mean to say there’s been no funny business?”

What?

Everyone turned to him, and he realised he’d spoken the word out loud.

The lady sighed, and said, “Officer Jody Mills, my men and I caught you kids red handed. Sorry for the informal introduction but that is exactly who I am and what happened, and this guy here says he didn’t do anything with you. Which doesn’t explain why you’ve been knocked out for hours with your functions all messed up. Can you vouch for him?”

What... the fuck?! Did they... Oh, no. No no no no _no_. They couldn’t have been thinking—

Oh goodness, they thought Castiel had _drugged_ him! But...

Flashes of memories danced around in his brain as he uselessly tried to grasp them. He could feel his head swirling. He remembered some of the things... He remembered—oh, right. He’d drunk the thing that he’d been handed. That’s the last thing he remembered.

“Dean, Dean, please, you have to believe me, I wouldn’t do that to you, I—damnit. I’m not a monster!” Novak shouted, sounding dangerously desperate.

What was the deal, anyway?

He looked around, caught Viktor’s eyes. The other boy stared back at him, fear clear in his eyes. So, both Novak and Viktor were depending on him to not bust their asses. Novak because he’d been accused of whatever they thought happened to Dean, and Viktor because he was the one who’d hosted the party.

A small, evil part of him wanted to throw them under the bus. He wasn’t particularly good friends with Viktor—they were acquaintances, at most—and Novak—fucking Novak, that _bastard_. Still... Unbidden, the memory from weeks ago rose to his brain. Why had Castiel looked at him with such a haunted look? At that time, he’d chalked it up to him being hungover, but...

God, why was he thinking of _that incident_ at this time of all times? He needed to stop letting his thoughts wander.

He tried to remember what the conversation had been, and said what he hoped was the right answer, “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Mills sighed, “Obviously, he’s still disoriented. This boy here says he wouldn’t do anything bad to you.”

Dean nodded, “Yeah... yeah, he wouldn’t.”

“Why do you think so, son? No offence but we _did_ find him half-clothed and you extremely vulnerable.”

“Officer, _trust me_ , I may be an asshole to everyone but I would never take advantage of someone. Especially not someone in the state Dean was in.” Castiel said, almost pleading now, all signs of anger replaced with exhaustion.

Viktor finally piped up, “There are security cameras installed in this wing of the house, officers. And, Novak, he was just making sure his boyfriend was not too cold.”

Everyone froze. Mills slowly turned her sight on Viktor, who was sweating like _hell_ , before turning to Castiel.

“Is what he said true?”

Castiel nodded, “He was shaking, I could see no blankets around, and it was the only thing I could think of. Don’t you get it? I had to make sure he was okay.”

“Why?” Mills asked, eyes fixed on his face like lasers.

“Because he’s my boyfriend.”

“Is that true, Dean?” the woman asked him, and both Viktor and Novak’s desperate expressions flashed through his mind.

“Yes.” he replied.

A few minutes later, he watched—heart in his throat and eyes wider than saucers—as everyone except him and Castiel were led out of the room to look at the camera footage.

\--

Dean stared at the ground as he walked, the only things visible to him his own feet and Castiel’s. He was still reeling from the shock of it.

 _Because he’s my boyfriend_.

What the utter fuck.

They’d left the Henriksen’s house ten minutes ago, and till now, Dean had done a great job of ignoring the person walking next to him.

“Dean?” Castiel asked, touching his arm lightly, and he flinched.

“What the _fuck_ was that, Novak?” he burst out, “First you act like an asshole to me for years, then you randomly turn up at a party where I get _drugged_ , and then you try and save your hide by saying I’m your boyfriend? Real classy, for a guy that hates homosexuals.”

It was Castiel’s turn to flinch, and Dean felt satisfaction thrum in his bones as he watched the expression on Novak’s face. “What do you mean by ‘a guy that hates homosexuals?’” Castiel asked, “Who said I hate LGBT people? Heck, who said I hate _you?_ ”

Dean looked at him disbelievingly, and he coloured, “Well, okay, I can understand how you must have thought the second. I don’t exactly get the award for Nicest Kid, but honestly, for a guy who’s bi I find it hard to believe that I’d be homophobic.”

A guy who was bi? Castiel was bisexual? So the rumours that day, about Balthazar and him—they weren’t rumours?

“Oh, alright, I guess you’re telling the truth. What excuses your behaviour towards _me,_ then? All the disgusting comments you made about my boyfriends?”

Castiel’s response was cool, “They were all pieces of shit anyway. Not like whatever I said about them wasn’t true.”

Dean stared at him, before wrenching his hand away—how long had they been standing, in contact with each other, anyway?—from the other boy and storming down the sidewalk. He didn’t fucking need to talk to the jerk.

\--

_I’m sorry_

Dean looked down at his phone, wondering who the unknown sender of the message was.

 _Who is this?_ he typed back. He hoped it wasn’t Novak. He wasn’t ready to talk to the guy yet.

 _it’s Castiel_.

Dean groaned. So much for hoping it wouldn’t be him. Another text followed, and he frowned as he read through it.

_so, as you know, we can’t tell anyone the truth now that we’ve said it in front of the police. which means, i hate to say it but, you’re stuck with me for the unforeseeable future. which means you need to stop hating me. meaning, I’m sorry but we need to pretend to be an in-love couple. and.... since you were underage we need to spend time with the counsellor_

The fuck!?! He did _not_ sign up for that!

He didn’t know what prompted him to do it, considering he really just wanted to _ignore that Novak_ , but he found himself holding the phone to his ear as the dial tone went through.

_“Hello?”_

“Oh, yeah, _hello_ , fucker! I need to know why the fuck you thought pulling me down with you was such a great idea. Scratch that, I need to know _everything_.”

And Castiel complied, launching into an explanation while Dean listened, holding his breath and forcing himself not to interrupt even once. Only when he’d hung up, did he realise what they’d got into.

So someone had laced the alcohol with some drugs at the party—that wasn’t too surprising. What was surprising was what occurred afterward. Castiel’d found him leaning against the wall, trying to escape the fire that was burning up inside him, and when he’d touched him, Dean had nuzzled like a fucking cat into his hand. Novak had been concerned, apparently, since he could see it was the result of a drug and Dean didn’t do drugs (how Novak knew was beyond him—maybe because he played sports?). Having taken him into a solitary room, he’d stripped down to give Dean some more warmth from his own clothes, but then the police had turned up and everyone had scrambled. Castiel hadn’t noticed, and when he had, he’d tried to wake Dean up but the boy had been sleeping like the dead. And then Mills and her people had burst into the room. The rest wasn’t worth a mention, just arguments about Castiel’s intentions and innocence.

But—counselling. Dean _hated_ counselling, Most of the time the counsellor didn’t even care, just wanted gossip, and Dean was not interested in providing any.

As for the police—he was going to bash Viktor’s head in next time they crossed paths. Goddamnit.

\--

The counselling sessions—the board had decided on three months for them, since Dean was a ‘good’ student—were a form of torture. Mr Adler, a rude man in his fifties who only cared about getting them out of his office, couldn’t have been less suitable for providing counselling to ‘troubled’ kids. The _safe_ and _open_ environment that he boasted sure didn’t feel safe.

His questions? They were downright _invasive_ , and Dean had never been to a counsellor before, but he _knew_ what Adler did wasn’t right. He asked them questions about his family—his mother, his father, Sammy, extended family—and his sex life—which, fuck him, he had no right to mention. The whole time, Dean was left with a burning face, trying to figure out how to refuse to answer without being labelled unruly. He did not want to talk about those things, why couldn’t Adler understand?

Throughout all that, Novak would sit in a slouchy position with his arms crossed, sneering at anything and everything Adler said, and goading him with crude comments and a snarky attitude.

After four or five sessions, he started to have his suspicions. The way Novak interacted with Adler—exchanging sugar coated insults, snorting and sneering—left little to no time for Alder’s interactions with Dean. While the counsellor (unsuccessfully) tried to chip away at Novak, the boy didn’t seem to be suffering, even after effectively being told that he was a worthless piece of shit. Was Novak... _protecting_ him?

Twice a week—anytime they wanted—they had to spend an hour with Adler. Dean was counting down the days they had left, but it still felt like an eternity. He had taken to staring at the fake plants and knickknacks around the office. The dog themed wall clock had an annoying tale that swung side to side, and he imagined it was as fed up of Adler as Dean and Cas were.

When had he started to think of the other boy as Cas, and not Novak or—rarely—Castiel? Surprisingly, he no longer got on Dean’s nerves as he used to earlier. He was still an annoying asshat, but just to Adler, and in Dean’s book, that meant he was good. If anyone asked him, though, he would never admit it.

It was maybe their eleventh week there, and with just three more sessions to go, Dean had decided that he was going to be saccharine sweet to the counsellor—he deserved the same exhausting treatment he’d subjected them to. He was _really_ happy. Just three more sessions, and he wouldn’t have to come into this room again, ever.

He was listening through one ear, as usual expelling Adler’s nasally words through the other, when he realised Novak was tensing in the chair beside him. His usually free hands were clenched at his sides, one foot curling around the other to stop him from jumping up.

“...Don’t you think?”

With a clenched jaw, Castiel replied, “No. I don’t think so.”

Adler turned to Dean, and he braced himself for whatever the man was going to say. “Dean, don’t you think you could use a little practice in affection? This doesn’t seem like how boyfriends behave around each other. You two are barely ever interacting. I must say, that’s quite surprising, considering you’re _boyfriends_.”

Dean stared at the man, slack jawed as he tried to comprehend what he had just heard. Adler stared at him with his slimy smile, and that’s when Castiel threw back his chair. Its legs screeched against the floor, making a horrible sound, and the boy didn’t bother to push it back as he walked out of the door.

Dean stared at the open door which Castiel had walked through moments ago, and then at the ground. Adler chuckled slightly, and Dean made his decision.

Two students walked out of the counselling room that day.

\--

“Castiel?” Dean said, having finally found the boy after looking for him all afternoon. He would be in major trouble for skipping class just to talk to him, but he didn’t want to delay it. The boy leaning against the lockers looked at him out of the corner of his eye.

When he didn’t receive a verbal answer, he tried again, “Uh, Novak?”

“What?” the other boy snapped. “Come to tell me how right Adler is? How we’re supposed to act like _boyfriends_ , hold each other’s hands and kiss each other’s cheeks, and weave each other some flower crowns to wear?”

Dean tilted his head to the side, before frowning, “I wasn’t going to say that. Adler is a dick.”

“Yeah. Exactly why I walked out.”

“But it shouldn’t offend you. You’ve seen it firsthand the whole time how much of an asshole Adler is. Heck, you are the one who deals with him most of the time.” Dean tried to reason.

“It still hurts, you know, to have it rubbed in my face amongst all the other disgusting things he says.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a fucking _fake_ arrangement, and it’s still causing so many problems.”

A fucking fake arrangement. Oh. Right, of course. This was still Novak. Just because he had seemed like less of a bastard than he used to do didn’t mean he was a different person.

But...

“You know, Novak, regardless of the circumstances... You don’t really have to be so rude. I just thought you should know that.”

“I just said you’re my boyfriend so I don’t have to be in jail!” Castiel almost shouted, and Dean froze.

 _Said I love you so I don’t have to be alone._ Wasn’t that what the girl in the movie Sammy was (totally not) watching the other night said? Unless Dean was mistaken.

Did that... What the fuck, he didn’t want to think of that. What mattered was what Novak had just uttered.

He stared at Castiel, unblinking and quiet. The other boy stared back with a level look, not repentant in the least.

Finally, Dean nodded. Breathing out, he turned and walked away, ready to apologise to the teacher who’d no doubt be pissed at him for being late.

\--

“I—I don’t know why I said that.”

Meg snorted, before quieting at the look her cousin shot her. “Clarence, are you saying you honestly told Winchester that? Aren’t you the same person who’s been in love with him for forever?”

Castiel clenched his fists at his sides, willing the tears to not slip out. He was sitting with his friends—his only friends—and hearing all the things he never wanted to hear.

He tried to speak properly, but only a whisper came out, “I really regret it...”

“Well, you should. I hate to say this, darling, because you know how much I love your dick in my ass, but someone who you’ve been pining over for years doesn’t deserve to hear that you don’t like them. Forget deserving, it’s plain stupidity on your part.”

He looked up. Balthazar was sporting his unimpressed-as-always expression, but underneath it, Castiel could see a softness that was rare. He turned to Meg, and found the same look on her face.

Frustrated, he threaded his fingers into his hair and curled said fingers around the strands and pulled. It hurt, which was exactly what he needed. Hot tears burned at the back and corners of his eyes, and he almost whined when he said the next thing, “This just happened because Alastair was a fucktard who got attached. I never asked him to want more from me than I would give. I never asked you both to casually mention my weakness for D—Winchester. I sure as fuck never asked Alastair to go and drug him because he was a jealous bitch.”

It was the other Masters’ turn to snort, and he said, “Well, I suppose you should say that to Dean, don’t you, Megan?”

The girl agreed, and Castiel looked at them both with something akin to hope. Could he? His friends nodded, and he just held out his arms, which they accepted.

Thankfully, neither of them mentioned the tears that leaked out of his eyes.

\--

Castiel gulped as the boy he was waiting came into sight.

His hair was combed back, the strands tamed with copious amounts of hair gel courtesy of the Masters, and he was wearing ‘formal’ clothing—not something he would want to be caught in at all. But this was for Dean. He hoped the boy liked him like this.

He noticed Dean snorting before the boy’s eyes landed on him, and widened.

Here went nothing.

Walking over, he gleefully noted that Dean was frozen to the spot—not going to be leaving anytime soon—and began speaking.

“Um, hey, Dean—I mean, Winchester, I mean—well, actually, I meant Dean. So, Dean... Yeah, uh, I need to come clean about some I figured out. I know who it was who pulled that in the party.”

Henriksen sputtered, and Castiel dismissively waved a hand, “Don’t worry, I took care of him. It was Alastair. He was the one who handed Benny the glass that you drank from, Dean. He put the shit in it because he hoped you’d end up embarrassing yourself, and... Yeah.”

“Wait, what?” Dean said, breaking his silence. Castiel took in a breath, ready to repeat, but Dean held up a hand. “I got what you said, but, why? Why did he want me to embarrass myself?”

Oh god. Why did Dean have to ask that question? In front of all these people, no less.

 _He needs to know, Clarence. Stop chickening out._ Meg’s voice rang in his head, and he sighed. Imagine, Meg, as anyone’s voice of reason. The thought was laughable.

He gulped again, making sure his mouth was free of the excess saliva that was bubbling up, and started speaking again. “Dean, you know what? He wanted you to lose your inhibitions and do shit that you wouldn’t do. Because—because you never do drugs and I—I really like that about you and I think it is very noble and strong-willed of you to not resort to those things—and I know that it’s low coming from me because I frequently indulge in all those illegal substances and more, but the fact that you don’t, and don’t let anyone else make you do otherwise just really, really makes me admire you, and I guess he didn’t like that I find you cool, and hot, and nice, and—uh, really, really cute, and—you know what, forget it. I’m rambling, I know, and you’re so stunned that you can’t even burst out laughing, and all your teammates are probably stifling their giggles, and everyone around us is staring because I am so freaking loud, and I am confessing my love for you like a poor bastard who knows he’s going to be rejected but still proposes to the girl he loves, and—yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to compare you to a girl, but I hope you didn’t take offence, because girls are cool too, although I’m more into dick than—forget this train of thought too. That’s all I had to say, Dean Winchester, and I hope you forgive me for saying that day that this was a fake arrangement, when really, Henriksen probably was too smart and figured out I was head over heels in love with you and did me a favour. Jesus, I seriously am rambling. Sorry.”

He’d never walked away from people faster before.

\--

Word obviously travelled fast, since everyone gave him a wide berth that day, and funnily enough, no one seemed _scared_ of him like they usually did. It was as if they’d finally realised Castiel wasn’t as cold and heartless as he pretended to be. Oh well. All good things came to an end.

“Novak.” Someone slammed a hand down on his desk, and he almost jumped. Oh fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , why was Dean here?

He looked back at the baseball player with wide eyes.

“You’re forgiven, Novak, I’m giving you another chance. Don’t fuck this up, _Castiel_. Who knows, you might just get to _pitch_.”

Holy shit, did Dean just make a sex joke? That was _not_ helping the sudden _problem_ he was experiencing.

All of a sudden, like a truck hitting a person, the meaning of Dean’s first sentence hit him.

**_What?!_ **

Oh goodness. Oh _goodness_. He—he was—he was forgiven. F o r g i v e n.

Surprisingly, no one gave him looks when he whooped and jumped up onto his table. Balthazar did try to pull him down before the teacher walked into the class, though.

He tried. Mr Singer saw him anyway.

\--

_Five years later_

Dean smiled as he heard Sam laughing over the incident Castiel was relaying.

It was Thanksgiving, and the Winchesters had travelled all the way from their place to the Winchester-and-Novak residence, and Mary and John were busy out on the hills surrounding their house. It was quiet out here, peaceful, a feeling that was rarely present in the city. They could have celebrated back in Dean’s childhood home, but they said a few days away from the ‘lively’ atmosphere of the city would do them good. Castiel had joked it was because they wanted Dean to pay for all the years he’d mooched off of his parents, and Dean’d punched his arm good naturedly.

It was just Sam and Cas in the house currently, and Dean wanted to finish all dinner preparations before his parents returned. He had no idea why Cas was telling his brother about their first date, but it was a good memory. He put the final batch of cookies into the oven.

“And that, is how I met your brother.”

Hold on... That... was _so_ not how they’d met!

He stormed into the living room, surprising Sammy, while Castiel nervously grinned at him, “Castiel Novak, you little shit, that is _not_ how we met! Stop lying to my brother!”

His fiancé looked at him innocently for a few beats, before grinning, and replied, “Well, won’t you tell us how, then?”

Even after five years of being together, he was still able to get on Dean’s nerves, and he very well knew it, if his chortling was anything to go by.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, that was a How I Met Your Mother reference at the end. XD
> 
> Feedback is appreciated! :)
> 
> [here's my tumblr :P](http://stardustandfreckles.tumblr.com)


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